One Last Adventure
by MarthaJones11
Summary: I have journeyed well, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Castiel is dying. Dean is forced to face death and love.


**Short one-shot on the relationship between Dean and Castiel. Character death. **

* * *

"Dude, why didn't you get any pie?" Dean asked, exasperated that his brother had returned to the bunker with bags full of organic fruit and whole grain bread, but had forgotten the one thing he wanted. "Come on man, it's been a long week."

"Dean, I would have gotten your damn pie if they had any," Sam responded, throwing the bags down on the counter and shoving food into cabinets. Dean huffed loudly and turned away, returning to the movie playing on his laptop. After a few minutes of cans being thrown into cabinets and cupboard doors slamming, Sam wandered over and leaned over his brother's shoulder. "What season is this now? Six? Seven?"

Dean responded without looking at his brother. "They haven't made that many seasons yet, asshole. Besides, I had to find out what happened after Ned Stark-"

"Dude! Spoilers! I might watch it someday," Sam shouted behind him as he stalked out of the living room.

Dean laughed and returned to the show. He wasn't necessarily that interested in the storyline, but they hadn't been making much progress with Crowley, and a few weeks without any action had left him both bored and anxious. Added to his thinly veiled panic was Cas; they hadn't heard from the angel since Dean forced him out – fallen angel, Dean had to remind himself. Cas was human, and that scared Dean even more. He knew that Cas didn't have the skills needed to survive out there, and he only hoped that the fallen angel would eventually find his way back to the bunker.

The only bright light, or perhaps slightly tinged with darkness, was the departure of Ezekiel. A few weeks without action had given both human and angel time to heal, and Zeke had left Sam's body three days ago, leaving Sam healthy and normal, but leaving the pair without the much-needed lifesaving divine intervention the angel had provided.

A ringing phone snapped Dean out of his thoughts. Sighing and pausing his episode, Dean slowly stood and stretched his muscles before sauntering into the kitchen and opening the cell phone on the counter. Holding the phone to his ear, he offered a blunt greeting before turning to the fridge and cracking open another beer.

"Dean." The voice on the other end made Dean turn cold and drop the bottle to the ground, its icy surface shattering along the tile floor and its contents coating the bottom of his jeans.

"Cas," he managed to blurt out, "Cas, buddy, where are you? Are you ok?" Dean's hands shook as he grabbed the edge of the counter for stability. The angel's voice cracked, and his breath was labored through the phone.

"I am by the Texaco, Dean," he said, voice punctuated by gasps for air and fracturing with pain at the edges. "I do not think I am ok. The gun-"

"Cas!" Dean shouted over the broken voice. "Buddy, we're coming for you. What Texaco? Where are you? Give me something to work with." Dean grabbed the Impala keys from the counter and rushed into the bedroom where Sam was sprawled on the bed. He kicked his sleeping brother, who sat bolt upright with a look of anger and surprise. Dean held a hand over the cell phone and mouthed "Cas is hurt" to his brother, who jumped from the bed and followed Dean to the Impala.

"It is not far from your home, Dean," Cas responded as Dean started the engine.

"Don't worry, buddy, don't worry. I know where you are. We're coming for you. Just hang on, just hang on the line – " his voice was cut off by a dead dial tone. "Shit!" Dean shouted, throwing the phone into the backseat of the car.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked, slightly panicked and very confused in the passenger seat of the speeding Impala.

"I don't know," Dean responded, pushed the car faster toward the gas station. "Cas called and sounds like he's in a lot of pain. Said something about a gun…" his voice trailed off, and Sam knew better than to push for more details. Dean was lost in a world of guilt and anger and asphalt crushing under speeding tires. If Cas was hurt, it was his entire fault. He pushed the angel – fallen angel, Dean reminded himself again – out of the bunker without protection into a world of angels that wanted him dead. Hell, the guy could barely brush his teeth, Dean remembered, and now he was hurt or worse…the world turned foggy as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Everything was consumed by a swirling mass of asphalt and trench coats and trees as they darted past the Impala.

"Dean," Sam said softly, breaking him away from the world, "the Texaco is coming up on your right." Dean nodded and swerved into the parking lot, barely slowing down and bringing the car to a sudden, jerky stop as tires screeched on the pavement. Jumping out of the car, Dean sprinted to a phone booth, where inside a faded red hoodie slumped on the ground with back resting against a dirty glass panel. Dean's breath hitched as he wrenched open the door, crouching down and allowing the man's body to fall into his arms.

"Cas," he whispered, his voice cracking as the fallen angel opened his eyes and pressed a hand against his arm. Dean's eyes began swirling again as they travelled down Cas's torso, resting on a spreading, deep red stain that marked the entire front of a pale green shirt. The man cradled in his arms coughed slightly, and Dean's eyes did not miss the faint hints of red that came forth from Cas's mouth.

"Buddy, this isn't it. You've been through more than this…you're so strong, Cas. We need you…I…I need you, Cas," Dean's voice forced out the words, his breath coming in shorter spasms as he struggled to hold himself together. He knew Cas would be fine. Death was nothing anymore, not to him or Sam or anyone else. Cas would welcome death, Dean realized, the thought pushing him over the edge. He grabbed the collar of Cas's stained green shirt and pulled his forehead closer, silently begging the angel to regain powers and stay with him. He needed Cas more than Cas needed to stay, Dean knew.

Cas smiled beneath Dean's embrace. "You always were sentimental, Dean. Deep down, it is love that drives you." At his words, Dean released a single, anguished sob. Love. Yes, it was love that drove him to find Cas after every separation. It was love that forced them together time and time again. It was the subtle love that everyone had overlooked but Dean knew to be true and Cas recognized, here, in his dying breaths.

"Dean," he whispered, breaths coming shorter. "Can I ask for one more thing?"

Dean stopped and wrenched his forehead away from Cas's, looking into the angel's eyes and stopping his own tears. "No, Cas, you can't. Because you're not dying, not here, not today. We're going to get you to a doctor, right now-" Dean was stopped by Cas's hand, which had suddenly moved to his mouth and gently covered his lips.

"No, Dean, this is it. This is happening now," Cas smiled, his eyes filled with pain and peace. "I used to be an angel, Dean. I knew of this eons before I met you. It's time," he said, watching as Dean's stubbornness faded away and was replaced by tears. "So I have one final request."

"Anything, Cas," Dean responded, choking on the words as they lodged in his throat, as he struggled to express his feelings for the man – for the angel, Dean reminded himself – who he loved, who was dying in his arms.

"Can I ride shotgun?" Cas asked, his serenity and pain being replaced by a childlike innocence that had defined his life on earth. Dean couldn't help but crack a small, sad smile at the angel's final wish. "Sure, Cas," he said quietly, allowing the tears at the corners of his eyes to flow freely down his face, a continence of pain and sadness that remained fixed on Cas's dying eyes as he called Sam over. Together, the two gently lifted Cas away from the dirty pavement and into the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean quickly belted Cas into the chair and rushed around to the driver's side as Sam slid into the backseat of the car. Revving up the engine, Dean began to buckle his own seatbelt but paused and glanced over at the angel, whose head was resting against the cold metal door of the Impala. Sighing, Dean shrugged out of his black leather jacket and gently lifted Cas's head away from the door, placing the balled up jacket against the metal and allowing Cas to rest against the soft material. He heard a soft sigh of contentment from the angel.

Dean started up the Impala, pulling slowly out of the gas station and accelerating onto the main highway, taking care to avoid potholes and making sure the ride was smooth for Cas. He continually glanced over at the angel, whose eyes were closed and whose chest rising and falling in shorter and shorter breaths. Wanting to fill the silence in the car, Dean pressed a button on the dashboard and quickly turned down the volume as Kansas came on the radio. He smiled before a short and painful sob racked his body, causing the dying angel beside him to slowly turn away from the window and face him with cloudy eyes.

_Carry on my wayward son_

"Dean," Cas whispered, "Dean, I see them. All of them. My brothers and sisters, and my Father. They're all there…all waiting…" Cas's voice trailed off as he erupted into a coughing fit, blood covering hands that attempted to stop the pain.

"Hey buddy, it's ok," Dean choked out, "Don't you worry about it. You're going home, Cas. You're going home."

_They'll be peace when you are done_

Cas erupted into another fit of coughing and gasps of pain, his eyes squeezing shut and face paling, drained of energy and life. A hand reached over into the driver's seat, resting lightly on Dean's arm as he attempted to maintain control over the steering wheel as his eyes welled up and everything became trench coats and blood and tires spinning against asphalt. "No, Dean," Cas whispered, "You are my home."

_Lay your weary head to rest_

Dean let the tears flow freely down his face. The angel turned to face him, leaning forward with the final moments of his strength, and placing both bloodstained hands against Dean's forehead. Dean pulled the Impala over, unable to continue driving, and leaned into Cas's strained embrace, wrapping his arms around the fallen angel's frail body and enveloping him in warmth. Dean felt Cas's hands pushing feebly against his chest, and he placed his hands on the angel's face, gently pulling him up to meet his eyes. A final, shuddering breath came from Cas, and the angel's eyes closed, his body leaning back against the seat, allowing the black jacket to fall away from his bleeding hands.

_Don't you cry no more_

Dean held the angel as sobs racked his body and a frail spirit flew upward toward grey skies and starry heavens.

* * *

Three months later, Dean finally brought himself to wash the dirt that had gathered on the Impala. He hadn't let Sam touch the car ever since that afternoon. He wanted to preserve it, he needed some reminder of Cas...but now Dean knew he needed to move on and find closure. So he decided to wash the car. Moving carefully from the roof, to the hood, to the bumper, to the sides, Dean scrubbed the aging beauty gently, the soap forming bubbles and washing away with streams of cool water. On reaching the passenger side, Dean noticed an odd marking underneath the door handle. After clearing the suds away, he ran a finger along the scratch in the car, cursing himself or Sam for being so careless, when he realized that the scratch spelled a name. Leaning closer, Dean could make out the beautiful calligraphy that defined a single word scratched carefully underneath the passenger side handle of the Impala: Castiel. Dean's eyes clouded over, then he wiped away forming tears with the sleeve of a black leather jacket and smiled to himself.

_Don't you cry no more._


End file.
